


What Seemed Like Ages

by kaalee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, M/M, Romance, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-06
Updated: 2007-07-06
Packaged: 2018-10-26 14:59:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10789041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaalee/pseuds/kaalee
Summary: In the face of a current project at the Ministry, Seamus and Dean confront the fact that their current relationships have fallen apart. Will they turn to each other for support... or build more walls around themselves?  [Seamus/Dean, Seamus/Harry]





	What Seemed Like Ages

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: Many thanks to [](http://oconel.livejournal.com/profile)[**oconel**](http://oconel.livejournal.com/) and [](http://danijo1.livejournal.com/profile)[**danijo1**](http://danijo1.livejournal.com/) for their beta support. This was written with much love for the glorious [](http://scoradh.livejournal.com/profile)[**scoradh**](http://scoradh.livejournal.com/) for [](http://community.livejournal.com/merry_smutmas/profile)[**merry_smutmas**](http://community.livejournal.com/merry_smutmas/) 2006\. ♥ It was a story that took a long while to craft. Originally posted [here](http://community.livejournal.com/merry_smutmas/137703.html) ~ this version has a few small revisions.  


* * *

**What Seemed Like Ages**   
**seamus/dean, nc-17**

**Seamus: Monday**  
~::~::~

 

Sunshine gradually broke the light-coloured curtains, warming Seamus's face as he awoke slowly. He blinked sleepily and smiled. The early morning had become his favorite part of the day – private, untainted, new.

The blackbirds in the park nearby chirped gentle notes, and Seamus found himself anticipating the familiar verse. He'd yet to catch a glimpse of the birds he'd been listening to for the past four months, but their presence made him feel somehow welcome, even if nearly everything else in the flat felt wrong.

He stepped out of bed, warm feet pressing firmly on the cold wooden floor, and pulled his pyjama top on as he left the bedroom and the sleeping figure curled in around itself.

Seamus padded into the kitchen and tugged open the window before pulling several things off the shelf. He loved the smell of the morning air, particularly when his neighbour had been up early baking bread. The yeasty, tart smell filled the kitchen and he took a deep breath, closing his eyes and savouring it like a memory before turning back.

He set the kettle on the stove to heat and pulled out a canister of Irish Breakfast. Harry and the rest of his mates drank Earl Grey, but Seamus flat-out refused to drink it. He told everyone that he was drawn to the more subtle flavor of Irish Breakfast; explaining against their disbelief that he was trying to stay in touch with his Irish roots, but really he was tired of doing what everyone else did.

The tannic scent filled his sinuses as he breathed it in, sighing. He put two heaping spoonfuls of the loose tea into a tea bag, grinning. He'd given up on getting his friends to make his tea - he didn't use the recommended teaspoon per eight ounce cup, nor did he take it the same way twice.

Some days he wanted a milky-sweet elixir to counter balance the bitterness of his day.

Other days he wanted a fast, hot cup – nothing syrupy, nothing murky.

The water boiled and Seamus considered his tea for the day. His mouth was still sour from seven hours of sleep and a slice of lemon sounded like the perfect accompaniment to his morning caffeine.

 

~::~::~

 

When Seamus was nearly dressed and twelve pages into _The Daily Prophet_ , Harry banged into the kitchen on heavy feet. Seamus stood up to greet him, moving toward Harry's mouth, but Harry turned his cheek towards Seamus's lips.

"No good morning kiss?" Seamus said.

"No, it's just… I haven't cleaned my teeth yet."

"Right, and if not that, it'd be something else," Seamus muttered under his breath.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, Harry. Whatever. Forget it."

"Seamus."

"It's fine. We'll kiss tonight, maybe before bed. I can hardly wait. I really hope your teeth are clean then."

"Seamus, you're not being fair," Harry said.

"Fair? You won't kiss me when we're fucking because of some strange hang-up and now I'm not allowed to kiss you in the morning like normal people? I'm not sure where the unfairness lies here."

"It's not like that."

"Well, how is it, _Harry_? I'm starting to get the feeling that you wish I was someone else."

"I don't wish you were someone else. I wish… I wish we weren't so cold to each other. I wish that this didn't feel so routine..."

"Oh, what have you been going to a Muggle shrink now? Stating all your needs in 'I' statements? How wonderful for you."

"Seamus, it's not like that. I just wish that we'd made some different deci-"

"Like what, Harry?" Seamus could feel his eyes blazing. "Like to stop fucking every night by chance and get a flat together to make it easier? Like to take a different job? Like to really go after the blo-, the person that you wanted three years ago?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Harry, I'm just sick of being second-rate to you. You need to make some decisions before I really leave for good."

Seamus banged out of the kitchen; something he seemed to do more often than not lately, wondering when their relationship had gone from bad to worse.

He grabbed his wand and Apparated to his office, sinking down in his chair and realizing he was still holding the teacup in his hand. "Bugger," he whispered, setting the teacup down and digging his palms into his eyes. When the elbow pushing into his knee started to burn, he let his hands drop and flopped his head down in defeat.

"What have I gotten myself into?" he thought, staring at the bronzed metal of his belt buckle and realizing that he'd forgotten his robes for the second time that week.

 

~::~::~

 

"Another bad morning?" Dean's voice came from the door.

"Yeah," Seamus looked up at his office mate and smiled weakly.

"Sorry, mate," Dean walked over and sat down on Seamus's desk.

"It's turning into a habit for us," Seamus sighed as Dean leaned over to rest his forearms on his thighs.

"Whoa, Shame, your _breath_ \- didn't you even clean your teeth this morning?"

"Nah – sorry – I only made it to the newspaper today and a botched 'good morning' kiss before we started arguing."

"That's two steps further than the day you showed up in your pyjamas," Dean said, reaching into his pocket and handing Seamus a mint.

"True. Dean, I don't even know what he's on about. He harped for weeks about getting a flat, and now that we have one, he harps about everything else. Aren't blokes just supposed to be pleased that they're getting some every night?"

"Every night?" Dean was incredulous, "If I get some every _twelfth_ night I consider myself lucky. How does your… erm… your arse take it?"

"You're assuming that _I'm_ the one getting fucked?" Seamus asked.

"No, I mean… Shame, I don't need to know the details of your sex life, I'm just trying to help."

Seamus sighed, "I know, Dean. I didn't mean to snap at you. And, yeah," he grinned wickedly. "I do take it up the arse."

Dean held up his hand and winced. "Christ, mate, too much information. Seriously."

"So, what's on for today?"

"We have three more briefs to prepare for the Wizengamot trial later this week."

"The Death Eater one?"

"You truly _aren't_ here, are you?" Dean asked sympathetically. "We've been preparing this for weeks."

"Yeah, I know," Seamus sighed. His head quirked up suddenly, and he looked at Dean, "Since when do you know everything that's going on?"

Dean just grinned at him.

"Seriously, when did you become the person that knew what was going on and stopped running to Hermione?"

"Since Hermione moved to middle of France for the _Motif_ reassignment and you started spending long periods of time staring out the fake windows. One of us had to start taking work responsibility. Plus," Dean said wryly. "As I'm not currently getting any, I've got to focus all my bloody energy somehow, now don't I? Why else do you think I got the fucking promotion?"

 

~::~::~

 

Six hours later, Seamus wondered exactly how they were even able to find anything in the middle of the paperwork.

"Dean?" he called out, not sure how to modulate his voice, as he wasn't completely sure that Dean was even in there.

"Yeah?"

"You still in here, mate?"

"I honestly don't know how to answer that question," Dean said. "There's so much paper here I'm pretty sure we just seceded from Britain."

Seamus snorted. "Sounds a bit like we need a liquid lunch, aye?"

"Can't," Dean said, and Seamus thought he sounded disappointed. "You've got that meeting with Kingsley to explain our plan for security and if I don't make at least an appearance at home, Susan'll do her nut."

"Not goin' well at home, then?"

"Not in the least." Dean sighed. "She's been going through my pockets, expecting me to make a schedule in my diary, make her a copy, and then keep to it within the quarter minute. I swear I'm going crazy, mate."

Seamus shook his head. "How'd we end up in such fucked up relationships?"

"Our sparkling wit and charm?"

"Must be. Though, possibly all those nights in the pub have clouded our judgment?"

"Speak for yourself, Finnigan."

"Meself and all the blokes that ain't got the balls to speak for themselves, Thomas."

"I've got balls."

"Pity Susan won't give them back to you."

 

~::~::~

Seamus encoded the final security plan on a charmed disc and prepared it for the inter-office Orb mail that was instituted a year back, after the flying parchment memos started being intercepted nearly thirty-four percent of the time (as members of the Security team, Seamus and Dean knew that it was really more like fifty-two, but the higher ups cautioned against giving the accurate information). He tagged the Orb with Kingsley Shacklebolt's name, then dropped it into the circular hole on his desk.

He jumped up, calling 'good-bye' to Dean before walking out. If he hurried, he might catch Harry for a few minutes before he wanted to stop by the pub.

 

~::~::~

 

Seamus wove through the corridors, thinking over the work he'd put together with Dean over the past days. No, he hadn't been able to remember when the damn trial was, but they'd put together a pretty ingenuous system for keeping everyone safe for the upcoming Death Eater trials.

As he approached Harry's office, Seamus grinned, noticing that the door was open. That was a good sign. The door wasn't normally open, nor had Harry been too pleased to see him during the week.

"Ron, I've learned too late that you can never know another person. We're all delusional in some way. We trust – or betray – or love, and it's all so arbitrary. We do it because we say we _feel_ or we know or we love. But we never know that the other person won't betray us or hurt us or..."

"... or die in front of us?" Ron finished quietly.

"All of the major Muggle religions are based on the fact that we are mortal and our time here on earth is limited."

"The Death Eaters were all too aware of that fact, Harry. You know they were taking steps to defeat death and in doing so, killed so many innocent people."

"I think the limitation on time, though, is why people search for meaning: in religion, in relationships, in sex, in music. But I think it's all completely one-sided when you think about it. We create meaning from and interpret the actions of others to better serve our own purpose. We want love, so we interpret actions and feelings as love..."

"But, Harry, that's why they're on trial. Because they took their 'meaning' too far. They slaughtered hundreds of innocent people. That's why you're being called in as a member of the Wizengamot, and that's why Dean and Seamus are working so hard to make sure the security is air-tight."

Harry was silent. Seamus could almost hear Harry's displeasure.

"I know," Seamus could hear Ron's voice soften. "You get philosophical when you're unhappy and I play the shrink because Hermione's not here to do it, and neither of us are acting like who we really are. It's like you said: no one really can know another person. So, we just act like it. That's why you're feeling so lost about Seamus."

"But I know you," Harry said.

"Then we're the exceptions."

"I just want to feel _something_ ," Harry sighed.

Seamus looked down the corridor toward the window and marveled at the fact that wizard spells were able to conjure the same birds, day after day, always doing different things. It was almost as though there really _were_ birds outside the window.

"Something?" Ron's voice was quiet.

"Something, anything... I'm sick of things feeling so numb. Something bad happens and I feel mildly amused. Something amazing happens and it's the same thing."

"There are ways to feel things, Harry."

"Not the way he wants to feel them," Seamus said shortly under his breath. He spun on his heel and walked back where he'd come from.

 

~::~::~

 

If the early morning was Seamus's favorite part of the day, then nighttime was his sanity. Sleep wasn't always restful – he continued to be plagued by nightmares sporadically – but the moments beforehand seemed to feel... precious somehow. Lying in bed was one of the few times that Seamus truly _relaxed_. He loved the feeling of lying down after a long day, slowing his body, and letting his mind drift. Even if he stopped by the pub, he typically got into bed before Harry did, and so relished the few moments of his own.

It was more than he could say for other moments of his life.

He felt the bed shift as Harry got into bed, but Harry laid flat on his back and neither turned nor smiled. Seamus moved toward him and slid his hand over Harry's stomach, tracing circles around his navel and dipping his finger in the center. Seamus knew he was quite predictable. He always rubbed patterns over Harry's stomach when he wanted sex. His next move was always to whisper in Harry's ear, licking his earlobe with slow strokes.

"I'm sorry I was such a prat this morning," Seamus whispered, laving warm lines under Harry's ear. "Forgive me?" His fingers found Harry's nipples, teasing them and scratching at them lightly with his fingernail. Sliding his body up to perch over Harry, Seamus's tongue darted out from between his full lips to taste the warm expanse of Harry's chest. As he moved, his hand slipped down under Harry's pyjama bottoms.

Harry sighed heavily into Seamus's neck and dug his fingers into the deep muscles of his back. Assuming the sigh was passion, Seamus slid on top of him and pushed their hips together. "So _good_ ," Seamus grunted, sliding his pyjama bottoms down with one hand, "this always... works for us." He leaned down to lick the corners of Harry's lips. Harry turned his face away from Seamus's tongue and looked at the wall.

Birds called to each other outside their open window. The calls sounded different from their morning songs, almost melancholy, and he wondered why ( _if_?) his own eyes were wet. Seamus closed his eyes, blocking out Harry's disinterest and telling himself that he had always been better with his hands, anyway.

Even the most righteous of men cannot help but be affected with a mouth on their dick, and Seamus knew Harry was no different. He moved downward, then sucked Harry into his mouth and concentrated on the very tip of his cock, dipping his tongue into the slit and then sucking at it deliberately. He heard - no, _felt_ \- Harry moan and felt a glimmer of triumph shoot through him. After a moment, Seamus reached for the jar of lube, preparing himself quickly and climbing on top of Harry.

He watched Harry's eyes flutter as Seamus sank slowly down onto his prick and then moaned audibly.

Seamus threw his head back as he pumped his body up and down. Harry braced himself on his elbows to watch their bodies joined together and moving in an obscene, nearly impossible rhythm. Seamus let dirty words fall out of his mouth without censor. "Wanna _come_... wanna spurt all over your chest and rub it over you to mark you. You're mine, _mine_... Come on, Harry, fill me until I'm flooding and your come is leaking out of me."

It had worked so many times before.

Harry grunted and braced his feet against the bed, all but throwing his hips upward with every thrust. Seamus felt bruised, battered, but kept moving, his eyes tightly shut with visions he couldn't bring himself to recognise.

Oddly, after several more thrusts they came together, both men jerking and spasming into the veiled night air in their own singular, private collapse.

After they pulled apart and settled down into separate parts of the bed, Seamus wondered exactly how many more days they'd last.

 

.. .. ..  
 **Dean: Tuesday**  
~::~::~

 

Dean moved slowly through the bedroom, piling clothes over his arm so he could dress in the bathroom. The sky had yet to lighten even with the barest of glow; it was still too early for that.

Just before he walked into the loo, Dean heard Susan sigh quietly and smack her lips once in her sleep. Dean felt his heart soften briefly and he turned to look at her. The low light allowed him to see only the outline of her body under the blanket and the unlined curves of her face. He smiled, remembering how much he'd loved looking at those very features. So many people had dismissed Susan as plain - not worth a second look - but Dean had seen just how beautiful she was.

It had been a surprise to both of them, being paired together to build several new Transfiguration spells for the Order, but Susan's easy humour and Dean's patience had made it a pretty flawless partnership.

They'd thought the transition to a similar, romantic partnership would follow just as easily, but... Well, Susan's humour had not been a constant and Dean's patience was unexpectedly short lived.

When Susan shifted again, Dean came out of his memory with a start and hurried into the loo.

He had a lot to do. He was joining Seamus for a meeting at half-seven with several of the higher ups in the Ministry. It was their job to assure them that the security they'd designed for the trial at the end of the week was tight, well-thought out, and fail safe. It wouldn't be easy, but Dean was confident with what they'd designed.

If only they'd been able to have this meeting two weeks ago like he'd requested.

He and Seamus were hoping against hope that the Ministry wouldn't do what they often did: pick and choose one or two elements they decided they could afford and ignore the rest.

Dean sighed. They'd have to be extra convincing, and finish the meeting with time to spare so they could perform the tests needed for the added security measures. He finished cleaning his teeth, washed his face, and then dressed in silence. At times like this, Dean often wondered what Seamus was doing across town, at that exact moment. Over the past months, their lives had become more and more parallel in the complications they kept claiming were beyond their control. Though, Dean thought, scowling at the door, at least Seamus was getting a good bit of sex, or so he said. Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd had sex.

Well, sex with his _wife_.

 

~::~::~

 

He decided he'd grab a bit to eat on the way to work, possibly even get it at work, as he was not in the mood to deal with anything at home before he left for work. Dean checked once around the kitchen, then grabbed his satchel off the floor and headed toward the safe Apparition spot they'd set up in their flat.

"Leaving?"

Dean's heart sank. He took a slow, imperceptible breath and then turned around. "Early meeting, yeah."

"Always seems to be an early or late meeting with you," Susan said, her lips tight.

"Won't be all bad when the trial is over. There won't be much left after that." Dean actually took a clear look at Susan when she wasn't sleeping, for the first time in a long while. He wasn't surprised to realise that...

That there really _wasn't_ much left.

 

~::~::~

 

Dean was sitting on the long table when Seamus walked into the darkened office and pointed his wand to light the lamp on his desk. He watched Seamus drop his satchel heavily, then scrub his hand through his hair and take a deep breath.

"At least you've got all your clothes on," Dean said quietly.

Seamus started, then looked over at Dean, his face softening. "Yeah. I swear, I-"

He walked over and sat next to Dean. Their knees brushed and Dean took a deep breath, just watching. Even with the difference in their height, for some reason, their knees were just about at the same spot and it seemed weird somehow... like it should mean something.

"Just... yeah," Seamus finished. "You alright?"

"I think."

"Shame-" Dean said, at the same time Seamus turned to him and said,

"Dean?"

"You go ahead," Dean said.

"I- I was just thinking-" Dean could see the light reflecting in Seamus's eyes, making them glitter, and he had to swallow, hard, or else face the reality of what his mind had just considered.

Seamus continued, "Why don't we have lunch together after the meeting. Just us. You make an excuse to get away from Susan and I'll skive off anyone that feels the intense need for some Irish wit and we'll just eat. Like we used to."

"Like we used to," Dean echoed, then smiled.

Seamus smiled back; his eyes looked heavy in the light and Dean felt a strange fluttering in his heart. As Seamus opened his mouth to say something, a voice interrupted them.

"They're ready for you," Ron said, walking in and making a face. "I swear they all look like someone just strangled their owls."

They nodded, then waved as Ron left, grinning at them and muttering something like, _'It's your execution.'_

"Alright," Seamus said, rising from the table and reaching for the chest into which they'd locked their files. He turned back to Dean. "You're the only thing that makes sense to me these days, Dean. I swear. I just can't lose that."

"It's now or never, mate," he continued, then walked out of the office with his shoulders set.

Dean paused for a long moment, then shook his head. No, he thought. It doesn't _have_ to be now or never.

 

~::~::~

 

The entire room seemed surprised when Seamus and Dean explained that the courtroom they would use for the Death Eater trial was one of the few above-ground rooms in the Ministry of Magic.

When Kingsley Shacklebolt asked about it in the meeting, Dean gave him a straight answer. "The Death Eaters do their work in the cover of darkness, as you know," he told the assembled witches and wizards. "We'll schedule it during the day so the sun shines in and the weather outside is the weather that shows. The walls, windows, ceiling and room itself will all be heavily warded and protected, but the fact that the rest of the _world_ is still going on outside, in the daylight, we expect will be quite profound. Thousands of people want these people's heads on a platter, and that ought to scare some of the Death Eaters into admitting more than they'd planned – or promised He-who-must-not-be-named or Lucius Malfoy that they'd reveal."

Seamus nodded along with what Dean was explaining, taking up the next area of their plan. "Dean mentioned the necessary warding of the glass and walls in the upper courtroom. We've been working with the Potion makers and some of the wizards in the Ministry with more advanced Charms talent. What we have under development is a new form of glass that has been created at extremely high temperatures by the Potions Masters, charmed once in its liquid state, and then once again after it solidifies. These Charms were developed under the supervision of Natasha Bywattle and she'll be available after this meeting for follow up."

There were the usual questions, and Rufus Scrimgeour seemed as skeptical as ever, asking if they'd considered all categories of disaster.

Frustrated, Seamus suggested taking the entire group up to the courtroom itself, in case the room would inspire questions they hadn't thought of. In reality, Dean knew Seamus was getting quite sick of the doubt that many Ministry officials seemed to bathe their heads in. He and Seamus had spent countless hours up in the courtroom with their team: designing, testing, adjusting.

Their plan was solid.

On the walk, Dean gave Seamus a sympathetic look. He was sure that Seamus would know what he meant; they'd been able to communicate wordlessly for years now.

In the courtroom, Seamus invited people to walk to the area where they would be stationed, to view safety concerns with their own eyes.

The strange dual-nature of Dean's job would keep him on the panel of judges while Seamus would be in the audience with other members of their team and many of the Aurors. All of their preparation would allow for people in every area of the courtroom to be safe.

Scrimgeour again brought up the idea of an outside disaster when a commotion outside one of the windows caught everyone's attention. It sounded as though a car had crashed into one of the trees across the street: screams and crashing metal cut the air for a few quick moments before the distinct sounds of an offended bird rose above the commotion. A moment later, they heard several voices, then the distinct words: _bomb threat_ , _Auror wing_ , and _several possible casualties_. Seamus unconsciously rubbed his lip and looked down at Dean.

Dean noticed the deadened look in Seamus's eyes, and the fact that his hands lay calm at his sides. Their body language were nearly mirrors. He blinked in surprise, sucking his breath. It appeared Seamus caught his intake of breath when Seamus's eyes bore into his for an interminable moment and then looked quickly away. So, Seamus truly was barely hanging on in his relationship with Harry. It didn't surprise him so much as... confirm a suspicion he had.

Order was called and the courtroom calmed down as an Auror and two other Ministry workers were dispatched to check on the events outside.

Dean sighed and looked up at the ceiling. This did not bode well.

 

~::~::~

 

Seamus slid into the chair across from Dean and grinned, "It's been a long time since we've had lunch, just the two of us."

"I know. It's been hard to get away."

"Is she still suspicious?" Seamus asked quietly. "Still watchin' you with every bird you meet?"

"Yeah," Dean looked down uncomfortably. "I really fucked up, didn't I?"

"Look, mate," Seamus said gently, "I've said it before and I'll say it again: 'Relationships don't break up on account of infidelity. It's just a symptom that something else is wrong.'"

Dean looked at Seamus for a long moment. Then he cocked his head, "You _wanker_!" he spouted, banging his hand on the table with laughter, "That's from that bloody film that you made me watch years ago!"

"Perhaps," Seamus grinned.

"Perhaps, my arse. You completely plagiarised that line. I thought you were being all deep and about to quote some brilliant Irish proverb and what you do is spew some crap from a Muggle film!"

"Moi?" Seamus asked, innocently, and when Dean snorted he grinned again. "It's a gift, really."

"Doesn't make it any less crap if you speak French, mate."

"Sure it does. Every one knows that."

Dean paused for a minute, then looked at Seamus. "They're not taking all of our recommendations. Said there was too much unnecessary expense and we hadn't thought of all of the possibilities."

"As if they've been able to think of every possibility in a situation!"

"Yeah, well they claim they're not paid to think of such things and we are."

"Load of shite if you ask me," Seamus said angrily. "They're going to pick and choose, and then blame you when it goes wrong. They've done it before, Dean, and they'll do it again. It's a fucking travesty what they think they can get away with. No one ever seems to get that we know what we're talking about."

"I know, Shame. But, they're too-" Dean tried to explain how they'd get around it, but Seamus was too angry.

"I've got to get to the pub," he said abruptly, clearly forgetting that it was still mid-afternoon. "We've got better things to do than deal with all this shit, Dean. You know that."

As Seamus walked out, Dean wondered exactly which 'shit' he'd meant.

 

~::~::~

 

For years now – four? five? – Dean could barely keep it straight; they'd all met at the pub on Wednesday nights unless there was some sort of unavoidable emergency. The faces had changed over the years and some people – Hermione, Neville, Ginny, Luna, Terry Boot, Susan – made sporadic appearances, but Harry, Ron, Dean, and Seamus were nearly always there.

It wasn't Wednesday, but Dean needed to do something before he headed home to his fucked up wife, er, life.

They'd started meeting at O'Rourke's because Seamus had got a job there and could sneak them free lager when the manager wasn't looking. Dean and Harry had always felt uncomfortable accepting the free drinks when they could have more than afforded to pay their own way, but the grin on Seamus's face the first time he'd successfully handed them a pitcher without catching the manager's attention had convinced them to keep quiet.

Dean had kept quiet later that night in the loo when Seamus pushed Harry into a stall and sucked him off. They'd been completely unaware that Dean was right there taking a piss. Seamus was supposed to be cleaning up after closing time, but he'd been too drunk on the power of dropping free beer right under the manager's nose. Harry had laughed and called Seamus a "horny little Irishman," before tangling his fingers in Seamus's hair and moaning words Dean could still remember: "seems that Irishmen wag their tongues all day for a reason" and "ohmygod don't ever fucking stop."

In spite of the discomfort of that situation, everything had been really good back then. He missed it.

Seamus now owned the pub. In spite of his sneaky and devious ways, he was really quite good at doing the many things at once that working in food and drink service required. About a year ago, the owner wanted to retire and spend more time with his family and had approached Seamus about taking it over, and had arranged a fair payment plan.

Seamus worked full time at the Ministry; he'd convinced a good friend from Ireland to move to London and take it over, but Seamus still made an appearance several times per week.

Dean unbuttoned his coat, remembering the party he and Seamus had thrown after that news. They'd all been drunk for about two days straight and it was possibly around then with some forgettable cricket player that Dean had stopped being so... uptight about his sexuality.

Now though, he sat down at a table near the wall so that he could still see the goings on at the pub. Generally, Seamus eased into his role with such grace, able to jump right in despite - or perhaps because of - any earlier upset. Dean envied that. When something was bothering him, it generally sat inside him, twisting and growing until Dean couldn't think anymore, but Seamus moved so quickly through emotions that nothing seemed to keep him down for too long.

"Finnigan, when are you going to run away with me and make me an honest woman?" called a big-breasted woman at the end of the bar who never failed to scare the crap out of Dean or any of Seamus's friends, for that matter.

"Lanya, I've no doubt that any amount of decency that I'd infuse into your life would be quickly counter-balanced by the uncontrollable leaking of money out of me wallet."

Lanya laughed and winked at her friends, eyeing Seamus's arse as he turned and then held her hand to her forehead and pantomimed fainting.

Dean realised that Seamus really didn't see how much others watched him.

Walking over to the table next to Dean's, Seamus wiggled his hips in an exaggerated dramatization of something in the story that one of the men at the table was telling with great candor. The men burst into appreciative laughter and Dean started to raise his hand in greeting when Seamus placed a drink in front of him with one hand and cuffed his shoulder with the other. He whispered, "Glad you're here, mate."

Looking at Seamus in surprise, Dean said, "How did you know I was here?"

"Ahh, a good bartender knows all that goes on in his bar," Seamus grinned, then licked the tip of Dean's nose before continuing, "And I'm a _great_ bartender, so I know everything a few seconds before it actually happens."

"Eww." Dean wrinkled his nose and rubbed it on his shirt and Seamus laughed.

"Okay, fine. I also smelled your cologne."

"Argh, you wanker, how many times do I have to tell you that I don't _wear_ cologne? And why in the hell are you working the bar when you own the place?"

Seamus laughed again – the quiet, infectious laughter that made many patrons turn to look at him before he said, "Maybe it's just your _essence_ I could smell - hold that thought - the O'Malley's need new drinks."

"How do you know that?" Dean asked, looking over at the O'Malley's – customers that lived really close to the flat that he and Seamus used to share, but travelled a long way to patronise Seamus's bar because of a "distinct lack of _good_ Irish pubs in London." – and realised that they did need new drinks, but he had no idea how Seamus had noticed.

But Seamus was gone, swirling up to the bar in a flurry of activity: patting different customers on the shoulders as he walked, picking up full ashtrays and memorizing drink orders as he bantered.

Dean really didn't know how he did it: Seamus made his actions look like fluid choreography. When they'd first got a flat together, Dean used to drop into the pub by himself to talk to Seamus. He ended up generally hitting on whichever birds were at the bar, but often just watched Seamus work. He watched Seamus's small, toned muscles contract as he carried large trays overhead and his arse sway in the snug jeans that Seamus favoured and the ladies watched.

Dean wondered what someone that _desirable_ was doing in a relationship so fucked up.

Speaking of fucked up relationships, Dean thought, he really had only little bit of time before he had to get back to his own.

Oh, bloody joy.

 

.. .. ..  
 **Seamus: Wednesday**  
~::~::~

 

"Are you kidding me?" Seamus asked, flabbergasted.

"I'm not." Dean sighed. "They're considering calling in an outside team to determine security. They want to test what we've designed, because they're not convinced we examined all of the cost-effective alternatives."

"And hiring an outside team is a cost effective method of doing so," Seamus said sarcastically.

"Don't try to understand the Ministry. You know that," Dean tried to grin. "It's the first rule: Don't talk about the Ministry, don't look at the Ministry, don't try to understand the Ministry."

"You forgot: don't _work for_ the Ministry."

"Believe me, I'm starting to question that now."

"I think I'm glad it's Wednesday," Seamus said.

"Pub night," Dean agreed, "always seems to come at the right time."

 

~::~::~

 

Seamus was holding court at the pub when he saw Harry and Ron arrive.

They walked in at the tail end of Seamus's story about spotting Ewan McGregor - ridiculously hot, even if he was Scottish - outside a London tube station and following him for hours through several pubs until Seamus finally found the (liquid) courage to approach him. It ended with Seamus getting kicked out of a pub near Upton Park for the rest of his natural life.

Dean was laughing - as he always did when Seamus told that story - shaking his head and making a rude gesture, "You always say that, you Irish git, but it can't possibly be true. I know the Hammers are overlooked and a great club to see, mate, but I just can't believe Ewan _fucking_ McGregor would be headed there to a match."

Seamus flashed Dean a brilliant smile and then glanced over at Harry, "Oh, Thomas, you're just jealous because your signature story is one that bores even perky house elves, and yet on me first trip to East London, I have a story that legends are made of."

"At least my story has basis in fact, Shame," Dean retorted.

"You know," Harry interjected, "they wouldn't let us in a few months ago when Seamus and I tried to get in before we were headed to meet you all at a match. Bloke there told us that there was something wrong with our identification, but who knows? Perhaps Seamus's picture is posted in the back room as one of the Ten Most Wanted."

Seamus smiled gratefully at Harry. "I _knew_ you believed me," he grinned, sliding his hand onto Harry's knee. "Take that, Thomas."

"So, what was going on today?" Harry asked quietly. "I heard Dean got called into a meeting, but I was called out and missed the aftermath."

"They called in scabs," Seamus said, refilling the bowls of nuts and waving to a customer with his other hand. "Don't trust our expertise and think we're not being cost effective."

"And if they use the other methods and they go wrong, you'll get blamed, yeah?"

"Sounds about right," Seamus said bitterly. "Dean mostly, though. He's head of it all."

Harry scowled briefly, but then reached for Seamus's hand, covering it for a moment. "I'll see if I can do anything."

 

~::~::~

 

Later that night, Harry nudged Seamus onto his hands and knees and fucked him soundly, tracing the light freckles that dusted his back. He groaned loudly when he came and pulled Seamus's erection hard and fast until Seamus, too, was moaning with release.

Seamus didn't try to kiss him good night, but when he manoeuvred toward Harry, the two men wrapped their arms around each other and fell asleep quickly.

It was almost as though nothing was wrong.

~::~::~

 

.. .. ..  
 **Dean: Thursday**  
~::~::~

 

Thursday had dawned heavily in London. The sky opened with torrents of rain, soaking all but the quickest of people. Dean should have taken it as a sign and stayed home, gone to a film, just been anywhere else but at the Ministry.

Instead, he was pulled into a meeting that lasted four full hours, upbraided and torn a new arsehole for not taking the sort of responsibility that was required in his job. It was their belief that he had deliberately misled the Ministry when detailing security details, and naturally, it was his fault that the Death Eater trial had ended in acquittals.

There was to be an inquiry the following day to determine his and Seamus's culpability in the matter.

Not to mention the docked pay.

Happy fucking Thursday.

 

~::~::~

 

Seamus sighed heavily and sat down on Dean's desk. "I'm so sick of the bureaucracy of everything here. You explained our plan and all the risks and no one believed them - _again_. Then, when they didn't put all of the precautions in place, though you'd made it perfectly clear what might happen if they didn't, we get blamed for the end result and you take all the heat.

"Haven't they figured out the pattern here? You say something and they all cry 'foul' and try to discredit you. Then something big happens and they all realise that you were right in the first place. When will they fucking learn?"

Dean watched Seamus's cheeks redden as he spoke. He still felt overwhelmed sometimes at Seamus's unwavering support. Even after they'd known each other more than half their lives – it still surprised him. And yet, there was something so comforting and effortless about being with Seamus. He sat down next to him, pushing stacks of parchment to the side and facing him.

"I don't know how you do it," Seamus went on, "I think it'd drive me crazy to have people so consistently fickle about me. Seriously. You say something. They don't believe you. And they continue to be proven wrong. Every. Single. Time. I wonder how long it's going to take this time until they come crawling in here with their fuzzy tails between their legs wanting to suck your dick. Uh. Sorry, I'm just being crude now." Seamus scrubbed at his lower lip and Dean watched the shine spread across them.

Dean thought about Susan's cold stare, about Scrimgeour's cruel words and wanted something to feel effortless again. He leaned toward Seamus, brushing their lips together and resting a hand lightly on Seamus's neck. Seamus stopped speaking immediately. Dean pressed into the kiss, opening his mouth and trying to dip into Seamus's mouth with his tongue. He felt Seamus tense almost imperceptibly and pushed a little bit harder. He wanted this.

_Wanted_ it.

At least he thought he did.

Seamus wasn't moving. Dean opened his eyes to see Seamus's eyes tightly shut with an unmistakable wince clouding his eyebrows.

This wasn't right.

Dean pulled away, embarrassed, and looked down into his lap.

They were quiet for a few moments and then Seamus put his hand on Dean's shoulder and spoke in a low voice, "You okay, mate?"

"No, I'm not okay. I just tried to snog my best friend. I'm- I'm sorry."

"No need to apologise."

"But I... I ki-"

"You were just looking for something comfortable."

"But you..."

"Dean. I don't have eloquent words or tons of information like Hermione. But I know you. And you have almost nothing going for you right now. So I... I understand. It's okay."

"You didn't try to pull away."

"Because you needed to do it."

"Shame, I..."

"Dean, shut it, okay? You have pretty lips. It was barely a hardship for all of the fourteen seconds that it lasted."

"Fourteen seconds? You counted?"

"Dean. You're me best mate. You just kissed me and it was weird and I wasn't going to pull away, but you're really, really married. And, uh... straight."

Seamus finally laughed and hopped down off the desk. He hooked his elbow around Dean's neck and pulled him along, "Okay, now let's go to the pub and get so drunk the owner'll throw us out."

"You _are_ the owner."

"All the more reason to try, then."

 

~::~::~

 

Dean staggered home, having the slight presence of mind to realize he'd splinch himself if he tried to Apparate. He found Susan sitting on the sofa, her face shadowed by candlelight.

"I've always known," she said as soon as Dean entered.

"Whuh?" Dean tried blearily to focus on her face, but she appeared to have two or three of them, depending on how he held his head.

"You cheated on me, but I was the one who thought I could change you. I'm not saying what you did was right, just... I never should have got involved with you in the first place."

"S-susan," Dean slurred. "Y- you... you're breaking it off, then?"

"Yes," she said simply, standing and walking across the room. She kissed Dean tenderly on the lips, then slapped him - hard - across the face. "Now get the fuck out of my house."

When Dean woke up in his office the next morning with his face still stinging, it was the only clue that he'd not actually dreamt the whole conversation.

.. .. ..  
 **Seamus: Friday**  
~::~::~

 

Seamus found sleep far from restful, so he moved slowly out of bed, walking into the kitchen and heating water with his wand, rather than the kettle. His mind played the kiss with Dean on an endless loop until he felt just about ready to tear out his hair. As much as he would have liked to drink enough Firewhisky to drown an owl, he'd already had a good bit at the pub with Dean not five hours ago. Seamus knew that he really shouldn't. Not with their own Ministry examination the next morning.

So, tea it was.

His mind played looped the image back to the beginning again and Seamus nearly banged down his teacup in frustration. Everything he'd been able to accomplish was now threatened again. Dean had always looked at him that way - when he was drunk, or Seamus was drunk, or they were both bloody pissed and falling over each other with drunken laughter - and he'd always been able to deal with it. Now with Dean's marriage in such dire straits, he really, really needed to keep his wits about him.

Otherwise, if there was a next time, he'd kiss Dean back.

He couldn't do that. Even the fantasies that haunted his dreams: awkward, adolescent bits of fumbling: tentative, open-mouthed kisses that lasted hours; frenzied, intensely passionate sex with Dean's hands holding him roughly open...

Seamus had to stop this. It wasn't good for either of them.

 

~::~::~

 

At nearly half six, Harry stumbled to the loo, then made his way into the kitchen.

"Thought I might find you here," he said.

Seamus pressed his lips together and nodded.

"This really isn't working, is it?" Harry said.

"I don't think so."

"We just... it got away from us, I think."

"I did love you, though," Seamus said quietly. "We really... we just helped each other after- after _everything_ y'know?"

Harry looked like he did know. He nodded slowly and pressed his own lips together. Seamus looked up at Harry and wondered if Harry could read the guilt he'd tried to quash... if it had broken into Harry's consciousness and infected what was already bad between them.

Harry was quiet. "You love him, though, right?"

Seamus nodded.

I dunno why I've been such a goddamn prick."

"We've both been pricks," Seamus said.

"Yeah, but I wish I knew where things went wrong."

"Maybe it's not traceable."

"Not for blokes that can't even read their own feelings, no."

"Do we have to hate each other now and get all heterosexual and weird about this, then?" Seamus asked.

Harry looked at him for a long moment, then smiled. "God, I hope not."  
There was a long pause where Seamus just watched Harry, his own mind a mass of too many tangled thoughts to find something else to say.

"How about one last blow job... for old time's sake?" Harry said wryly.

"Not if you want to keep the flat, you twerp," Seamus winked.

 

~::~::~

 

The air in the Ministry felt heavy to him; Seamus half hoped they'd done something to the air on purpose, as he didn't fancy being the only one looking (or feeling) like death warmed over. He walked into an empty office, looking around curiously and feeling unusually disappointed that Dean wasn't there.

The inquiry was to begin at nine, but Seamus wasn't due until ten. Glancing at the clock over Dean's desk, Seamus realised he had nearly two hours to catch up on non-existent work, stare at books he wouldn't read, and second-guess everything that had ever gone on between he and Dean in every year they'd known each other.

Because, really, what was he supposed to do in the wake of a failed relationship but rehash the mistakes he'd made in others?

 

~::~::~

 

Seamus finally gave up and paced the corridor for an hour. When he was finally called in, he found that they still weren't done questioning Dean and he had half a mind to skive off entirely and get pissed again.

A solicitor Seamus had never seen before was standing in front of Dean, his face soft with phony concern.

"Is it true, Mr. Thomas, that you were found in bed with one Terry Boot, when you are currently married to Susan Bones-Thomas?"

Dean swallowed. "That's true, yes. Though, I'm not going to be married for much longer."

Seamus felt as though he'd been hit in the gut with a Bludger. A _bloke_? He tried desperately to keep focused on the inquiry, but his mind was racing.

"I imagine this was embarrassing for you."

"Not for the reasons you might imagine," Dean said quietly.

"I can see how it would really affect your work. If I had to deal with my own infidelity, I certainly wouldn't be able to focus on my job."

"I'm sorry to hear that it would affect your work, but I assure you that it in no way affected mine."

There was more talking, but Seamus was unaware of it all. He was called to testify, but was only dimly aware of what he was saying. His mind stuck on a single phrase: _'found in bed with one Terry Boot'_. It seemed like one of the scratched vinyl records his da used to play before he left. When he was dismissed, Seamus nodded vaguely and left the courtroom.

Seamus walked toward his office, his mind full to bursting and entirely incapable of a coherent thought. He took three wrong turns before he finally found the right corridor.

"Shame? _Seamus_!" Dean called, running down the corridor after him.

When Dean reached him, Seamus turned and punched him hard in the jaw.

Dean coughed and sputtered, "What was that for?"

Seamus stepped forward, slamming his fist into Dean's stomach, then pulled back and did it again.

"Seamus, just listen to me!"

"Shut your gob," Seamus yelled. This time he aimed for Dean's nose, feeling oddly dissatisfied by the crunch, but grinned wickedly when Dean rubbed at it and got a finger smeared with blood.

"Bloody Irishman," Dean swore, lunging forward and tackling Seamus to the ground. Seamus landed with a head crack on the floor and tried to buck up against Dean. They exploded in a flurry of fists and muttered curses, skin purpling as Seamus tried to crawl outside himself and attack Dean with hostility.

He could barely see through the fury in his eyes; Dean had been reduced to a chiseled shadow bathed in red as Seamus fought for the upper hand. He finally rolled on top of Dean, curling his ankles to pin down Dean's legs as best he could while Dean struggled against him. Seamus could hear Dean's pants as easily as his own - they echoed inside his head.

They rolled over three more times, first Dean had the upper hand, then Seamus, then Dean again. Seamus grunted and swore, swinging with purpose, but only connecting on a mere four of his punches. He couldn't read the look in Dean's eyes, and he didn't want to. He couldn't bear it. Not anymore.

Seamus's mind swam with desire to inflict as much pain as he could humanly summon and he started swinging at Dean again in earnest. Dean gave as good as he got and by the time Seamus was pinned badly, his skin was aflame with something he refused to acknowledge. They struggled again, Seamus trying to buck up against Dean, to free his hands, to get the fuck away, but Dean was too strong.

When another set of footsteps echoed down the corridor, they both froze, looking at each other for an interminable moment.

"Why did you-" Seamus whispered before Dean crushed their lips together. Seamus closed his eyes, opening his mouth and pressing into the kiss. He tasted Dean's lips, his tongue, and moaned with the feel of it. He tasted the bitter tang of blood... blood, oh god-

"Stop it!" Seamus pulled away, flailing at Dean with open palms. He wondered why he'd suddenly been reduced to slapping, but he kept trying to inflict as much pain on Dean as he could. "Leave it. Just fucking _leave_ it, alright?"

With a final surge of strength, Seamus broke free of Dean and took off down the corridor, his anger fading with every step.

 

~::~::~

 

The canteen was never a smart place to hide.

It wasn't as though he'd actually fucked a whole great amount of men, really, but seeing four of them - _four!_ \- in the space of walking in and trying to get his tea was really too much. There had to be some great power at work there; the planets aligning to teach him some grand lesson that he just wasn't getting with his own meagre brain.

Plus, really, if he had any more fucking tea he'd spend the rest of the day in the loo.

He'd best get back to work.

 

~::~::~

 

Seamus couldn't believe it was happening again. Three times in two days and Dean was kissing him.

Kissing him like Seamus had imagined so many times before.

Dean had walked into their office, his face starting to bruise from their fight, and waved his wand to secure the door. He had pulled Seamus into his arms again, kissing him less harshly than in the corridor and holding Seamus up with a loose arm on his lower back.

"Let me," Dean whispered, bringing Seamus back to the present again. "Let me do this. You don't understand, I couldn't tell you because then you'd- please don't hit me again. Not yet."

"Did you get off?" Seamus asked, trying to change the subject and failing desperately not to sound breathless.

"Yeah, but with probation. I dunno if they'll dock my pay. Harry said the whole thing might be a formality just so they don't have to look like a bunch of incompetent pricks."  
  
The attempt to distract Dean didn't work. As soon as Dean finished speaking, he pushed back, kissing Seamus harder now, his eyes open for every breath.

For a reason Seamus could only describe as insanity, he hadn't pushed Dean away. He wasn't going to. This time he wasn't going to back off; he wasn't going to back away. He was going to stand stock still and let Dean take this as far as he dared. It had been too long since Seamus had been in a situation like this and he couldn't let it go without making some sort of a stand... if only in his mind.

He almost narrowed his eyes at Dean, but really, he wasn't angry or even annoyed. Not anymore. He just wanted to know how far Dean was going to take it. If he was really, actually, into it or if he was just full of shit.

Dean kissed him, first slow, with a long lick across his bottom lip, then brushed it across the corners of Seamus's lips, dampening them. Seamus didn't move, he let Dean keep going. When Dean made a rough sound in his throat, Seamus sucked his breath and forced his mind into visions of horrid, terrible dead things. Because, god, this was taking just about every last bit of his restraint. He wanted it, wanted _Dean_ , but he was damned if he was going to show it just yet.

The longer it lasted, the warmer Dean's lips felt against Seamus's skin. They travelled over his jaw, his cheek, his neck and Seamus started to see stars swirling behind his eyes. His vision narrowed into a kaleidoscope of Dean, but he kept his body firmly detached.

When Dean finally pulled away, the effort Seamus put in to his indifference drained out of him and Seamus sagged against the wall. Dean looked steadily at him and spoke low, "I've kissed you three times now. If you're finally convinced I'm serious about this and not just taking the piss, well... it's your call. You know where I'll be."

~::~::~

_'You know where I'll be.'_

Seamus frowned across the room at the newly peeling paint. He'd managed to ruin a brand new paint job just by staring at a point on the wall for some unknown period of time, lost in too many thoughts. His mam always said: "talking is for fools," "thinking ain't doing," and "get your great arse moving, you prat."

He rose from his chair and stretched thoroughly. There was a bruise forming on his cheek, his neck didn't feel like it was quite in line, and he was going to feel Dean's jawbone on his knuckles for several days. Seamus grinned, then laughed aloud. He'd never remembered his mam's advice before, let alone considered it. She spent the majority of her time flapping her mouth about one thing or the other, and Seamus learned early on how to tune her out.

Well, there was a first time for everything.

"Get your great arse moving, you prat," he repeated, then walked to the door.

 

~::~::~

.. .. ..  
 **Dean: Saturday**  
~::~::~

Seamus was sitting at a table in the corner of O'Rourke's when Dean walked in. His lip crooked and he said, "Of all the pubs in all of London, why did he have to walk into mine?"

"A better man would get pissed and continue to bugger up famous film quotes with you, Shame," Dean said, sitting down.

"A better man would want to talk about what this thing is between us and get labels declarations and a whole mess of crap figured out first."

Dean grinned, feeling something finally take root and warm him from within. "And you're-"

"Not a better man. All I can think about is what you're going to look like with your clothes scattered all over the floor."

"Best get started, then."

~::~::~

It took less than six minutes to find a hotel room, and half that to take off their clothes.

Dean hadn't realised exactly how perfect it could feel to have acres of naked Seamus skin pressed against him, but he was finding out pretty damn quickly. They'd moved on from kissing after the first forty seconds and were currently rutting against each other in a way that felt dangerously like perfection.

When Seamus licked his lips and grinned wickedly at him, Dean sucked his breath. He watched Seamus's lips move downward, nipping every sensitive bit of skin he could find, and teasing the skin of his inner thighs with certain hands. He was losing all semblance of his reserved control. He'd had a lot of sex, but nothing had quite prepared him for Seamus.

When Seamus dipped his tongue into Dean's navel, Dean had a sweaty, pounding feeling in his stomach and tried desperately to tense against everything building inside him. He couldn't- not... please, oh god, not when- not when Seamus was about to open his mouth and touch him right-

Right-

Right _there_. Dean closed his eyes as Seamus's mouth touched the head of his cock, exploding into a thousand fractured lights and calling out roughly. As the lights melted into warm waves, Dean opened his eyes to see Seamus mopping his face with the bedspread and grinning widely.

Dean buried his face in his hands and felt his cheeks heat. He hadn't done that since he was a teenager.

"Oh, god," he moaned, mortified. "I'm so sorry. I can't believe I-"

"Thomas, shut it," Seamus said, pulling the blankets over them and flopping down next to him. "You're not the first to lose it when you get a taste of the Finnigan magic, though you may just be the last." His eyes glittered in the light, and Dean breathed the warm, stale scent of desire.

"You want I should-?"

"Oh, you will," Seamus said, smiling wickedly. "Just a bit later... when you're ready to make me lose me mind completely."

~::~::~

Dean woke in the middle of the night, knowing it was time to make Seamus come. It was a sort of certainty; one he didn't question.

He lit a candle so he could watch, and then reached downward, rubbing between Seamus's legs, over the blankets, and watching him shift in his sleep. Seamus's eyes were moving rapidly under his eyelids, and Dean wondered what he might be dreaming about. Did they share dream subjects? Had Seamus imagined something like this, too?

When he felt Seamus's cock harden, Dean pulled down the blanket and crept between Seamus's thighs. He wasn't sure exactly what the perfect techniques of something like this were, but he had a pretty good idea of the logistics. Seriously, how bad could it feel to have someone's mouth on your dick?

Only a minute later, Seamus's toes were curled against the sheets and his thighs were clamped tight around Dean's ears. Oddly, Dean found it remarkably endearing. He imagined the _thump, thump_ he heard was the steady thrum of Seamus's pulse when really it was probably Dean's own heartbeat ringing in his ears. He thought maybe this was invented way back in the olden days as a way to cure men's wandering eyes.

Because, _fuck_ , if someone felt the power he felt, no one would ever get out of bed.

Before Dean thought too far on that (mostly implausible) theory, Seamus made a high pitched, keening whine, then opened his mouth and gasped, "Fuck, D-Dean... I c- can feel it inside my _teeth_."

Dean was surprised when Seamus reached for his chin and pulled him upward.

"Shame?" Dean whispered, looking into Seamus's eyes and trying to understand the raw lust he saw.

Seamus said nothing, just licked Dean full on the mouth and then teased each and every nerve ending with the tip of his tongue. Dean's lips parted, but Seamus didn't kiss him, not completely. He licked across the bottom lip, then sucked it lightly and let it go. He did the same with Dean's upper lip, sucking a bit harder, but then retreating into tiny, small swipes of the tongue. Dean rolled onto his side, rolling Seamus to face him and pulling their bodies together.

He felt the tight, taut warmth of Seamus's skin, but could only focus on the uneven shivers moving under his skin every time Seamus's mouth touched his. It might have lasted a quarter hour, but when their mouths moved completely together, Dean forgot everything he'd just experienced and let this new feeling overtake him. It was like breathing, but open mouthed and wet and perfect. Seamus's lips went up when his went down and Dean had never realised that it could feel wholly amazing to have his tongue sucked.

Dean's lips had never been wetter, never been more slippery, but something about trading warm licks over the entirety of each other's mouths had him more turned on than he'd ever been.

"Seamus, god, I want you," he whispered, unsure whether doing this exactly one other time actually qualified him to know what he was doing, but hell, it couldn't be too difficult to figure out.

He heard Seamus choke back something inaudible, then reach for his wand and whisper a quick spell. "Just... go slow, yeah?"

Time had disintegrated into molasses and Dean couldn't have gone quickly if he'd wanted to. Seamus reached for Dean's hand, twining them together and slicking Dean's with something slippery. He whispered, "Rub this over your-"

"I know," Dean said, his heart in his throat. He did, then watched as Seamus rolled up onto his knees and put his hands on the headboard. Dean traced the curve of Seamus's arse, pressed between his buttocks, then walked forward on his knees to get ready.

Seamus was unexpectedly quiet as Dean entered him: he took a deep breath, reaching back to hold Dean's hip still for a moment, then whispering, "alright... now. _Please_."

Dean thrust once, then paused, fully inside Seamus and trying terribly hard not to pass out. "Seamus... _Shame_ ," he panted, reaching around to slide his arm across Seamus's chest and pull him upward so he could hug Seamus's back against him.

Their bodies moved together slowly, if not in a perfect rhythm, at least in the right one.

At one point, Dean thought: can it really be like this?

Seamus seemed to answer as he thrust back against Dean, whispering, " _Yes_."

The silence of the night magnified every slow squelch of skin as they moved slowly together. Dean had lost all vision but what Seamus's body looked like in flickering candlelight and every word he had ever learned melted into Seamus's name.

Just before he came, he had a sudden moment of clarity, calling out Seamus's name as...

Oh, god, the-

The world melted into tattered, unrecognisable shapes and Dean felt contentedly drained. When Seamus shuddered and arched against Dean, calling out words Dean couldn't make out, Dean held him and whispered words into his hair.

They fell together, curling around each other as though it hadn't taken them fifteen years find each other this way. Dean didn't think about everything that had fallen into their path this week; it didn't matter that they were still waiting to find out exactly what the Ministry would do about their probation... and he sure as hell didn't care that neither of them actually had a home to go to any longer.

When Seamus looked at him tenderly and leaned up for a gentle kiss, Dean finally let himself soften. As time hurried on around them, Dean realized that for the first time, in what seemed like ages, the world finally made sense.

 

~::~::~

 

~thank you so much for reading! ♥


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